And Then There Were Three
by gethsemane342
Summary: No sudden movements. Take it easy. Ignore the audience who have been thirsting for our blood. And if one of us moves, the other two will kill them. AU, if the Capitol Hunger Games had gone ahead.


**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games_**

**Rated:** for death

_Written for _Kitano Hoshie _who asked if I would write something about the Capitol Hunger Games._

And Then There Were Three

We stand on the rooftop, looking over the edge. The ground is a long way down – if any of us fall, we will die. Unfortunately, that appears to be the whole idea.

We're in a triangle. If any one of us tries to push the other off, the third person can push the combatants over. Each of us watches the others carefully. No sudden movements. Take it easy. Ignore the audience who have been thirsting for our blood.

"I didn't think it would come to this," Lucinda says slowly, her eyes flickering between us.

"Not with the three of us, anyway," Varro adds, his hand brushing the handle of his axe.

They look at me. I'm at the tip of the triangle. "I suppose it's making a good show. Isn't that what they wanted to prove to us?"

We keep looking at each other.

"We've been here for a long time," Lucinda says. Her hand remains on her knife.

"Longest of my life."

"And I can't believe everyone's _dead_."

"How did we even get here?" Varro asks.

I shrug. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>I didn't understand the point of these Games, even when they explained it to us as they called the twenty-four of us up. I understood that they wanted to make a point – to settle vengeance without a huge loss of life, have some form of final, symbolic execution. But why they decided to punish the children of the people in power is what confused me. Surely, killing the people in power in these Games would have proved the same point. Since I wouldn't have wanted my mother to take part in any form of Hunger Games, I suppose it's always been a moot point as far as I'm concerned.<p>

I think the reason I was so confused then is because I hadn't really understood the Hunger Games. No one can until they've lived through them. They were always so removed from reality that I couldn't regard them as anything other than fiction. I suppose they were – and are – trying to send a parallel message back to Capitol citizens who would follow in our families' footsteps. Mess with us again and we will inflict unimaginable horrors upon your children, just as you did to ours.

The Games are supposed to be a replica of the ones used on the districts. They called us in order of notoriety, from least to most, with gender being ignored due to there being more boys than girls. I was the twenty-first to be called and paired with Varro Torrelli, the fifteen-year-old nephew of the Head of Peacekeepers. Apparently, the Minister of Intelligence, who was, essentially, in charge of spying, was not a popular figure. She was executed a week beforehand, to much jeering. Hypocritical, I feel, because the Rebellion certainly used their own spies.

* * *

><p>Varro suddenly smiles. I keep my grubby hand on my sword.<p>

"What?" I ask suspiciously.

"Nothing," he says. Then he relents. "I was just thinking about how we got here. Remember the Opening Ceremony? How _did_ we make it after that?"

I laugh as they both look at me. "You can't blame me for _that_."

"I can," Lucinda mutters. "It was you who started it."

I suppose she has a point.

* * *

><p>The Opening Ceremony was a joke. The building they were using to "remake" us was a dump – to me then, when I cared about such things – and I wasn't even sure why they <em>were<em> doing anything to us. The rebels supposedly had no opinions on how people looked. And all of us were adorned in the current fashions.

It became clear eventually. They dressed us up as the people whose "crimes" we were being punished for. My hair was changed from blue to purple and I was dressed in the uniform of a Capitol Minister with the emblem for Intelligence attached.

I don't know if it was supposed to be insulting or not. I certainly didn't feel offended that they had dressed me up as someone I love. My mother had raised me alone after my father left and taught me about how Panem was run. I even helped her with some of her work. Apparently, it was better than me sneaking around the house and finding her secret documents.

That was where I first met Lucinda. I didn't have a set plan at that point; I still hadn't come to terms with the idea that in the Hunger Games, people die. I went up to her and introduced myself by commenting on the emblem sewn on her chest. And that's when I had the idea.

The chariots still existed and we travelled to the centre of the Capitol so that Coin could make a speech about our Games. In the moment of silence for those who fell in the Rebellion, I gripped the emblem sewn onto my top and ripped it off. Holding it high for people to see, I shredded it.

Antonius Sherborne, the grandson of the Presidential Secretary, fourteen people to my right, followed suit with the pen emblem which had been sewn to his top. Then Mila Vyse, daughter of the assistant Head Peacekeeper, who was often in charge of carrying out interrogations, and the person on my right. A boy I didn't know but who seemed to be related to one of the Gamemakers went next. And then it was catching. I saw Varro rip off all of his "medals" and throw them into the air.

Finally, with a calm look on her face, Lucinda Snow ripped off the white rose and with an imperious gesture, flicked it to the side.

Our mentors – two soldiers from District 13 - had a mix of emotions when they heard what Varro and I had done. They were furious because of the mockery I had made of the Games. But they were somewhat cheerful because they quite clearly didn't want to help us keep our lives for anything. In their eyes, their job was easier.

* * *

><p>"OK," I admit, "it <em>was<em> my idea. It was a stupid idea, I concede that now."

"It wasn't a stupid idea," Varro says. "We were supposed to die anyway."

It should matter to us that we're saying this in front of all of Panem – including the people who can conjure up mutts to kill us. But by this point, I'm not scared of death. I'm not scared of anything. I'm sure that if I leave these Games alive, I'll be scared of returning. But at this moment in time, anything could happen and I would just watch.

"But we didn't," Lucinda says in a surprisingly aggressive voice. "Maybe we called it wrong. Did you think of that?"

Varro smirks, but his free hand palms over the swirling tattoos on his face, as he does when he's nervous. "I think it was an accident that we got here."

"What makes you say that?"

He gestures to me, indicating that I should fill in the gap.

"I'm not your double act, you know," I tell him. He just grins and I have to smile back. Varro and I have made a good pair since we met. "It was an accident," I tell Lucinda. "Just think about how many of us there were to begin with."

* * *

><p>There were eight of us in total. Eight of us who were wondering whether it would be worth disrupting the Games or not. Of course, none of the twenty-four of us wanted to fight and none of us were exactly planning each other's imminent deaths. All of us had lost friends in the explosion outside President Snow's mansion. We'd all lost our families. And some of us were friends before the Games.<p>

It started at lunchtime on the first day of training. All of us were tired. I wasn't used to prolonged physical activity although I had been interested in sport before the rebellion. I sat down with Varro before deciding that maybe there should be a group. I don't know if at the time it was to rebel or to maximise my chances of survival. I think it was the former but not for any noble reasons. I was still treating it as though it were a game.

I suggested to Varro that we invite Lucinda. And Lucinda, of course, brought her partner, a stocky boy called Gaius Wallersteiner, the grandson of the Vice-President, who clapped me on the back and said he liked my style. Antonius and Mila, who knew me from before, joined us after catching my eye. The Gamemaker's relation wandered over shortly afterwards, a slight boy whose eyes had different patterns and whose arms were covered in colour. He introduced himself as Angelo Moir, son of the Assistant Head Gamemaker.

Towards the end of lunch, the twenty-fourth person joined us. She told us that she was called Drusilla Townley but gave no other information about herself. I knew her from my mother's records but since she seemed to want to stay quiet, I didn't say anything. Manners were important in the Capitol, whatever the rebels said.

We trained together, often splitting up into pairs to learn different skills. We started to guess each other's weaknesses. And we constantly, constantly whispered ideas to each other. About how to escape from the Games. How to show the rebels up. How to survive this.

Our interviews were filled with spiked comments about the Games but none of us had the guts to be completely open about it. All of the tributes, in some way, condemned the Games, much as the victors in the 75th Games had. But the rebels had learnt their lesson – we were interviewed in horribly, drab clothes, probably chosen to minimise controversy. And insults on fashion didn't go down well.

Varro and I thought all of our actions were hilarious, of course. Because we were still childish then. We still believed those shows we watched when we were younger, that the plucky underdog always wins.

* * *

><p>"So? I mean, Mila and Gaius were in as much danger as us. Gaius was in more danger than you two. And besides, surely they would have let Drusilla win?"<p>

Part of me is unable to believe that we are discussing conspiracy theories about the rebels _now_. But another part of me realises that this might be our last chance. And even if they cut out our conversation, they won't send anything to kill us. Not without people putting two and two together. After all, the rebels are supposedly smarter than the Capitolians.

But the longer we continue this conversation, the more it becomes clear that if all of us die, we will become martyrs. My mother told me, during the Rebellion that was what Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had probably been doing in their Games. It had upset me at first because I so strongly believed in their being in love. But my mother never lied about matters of importance. So I came to terms with it and decided that they were probably in love now anyway.

"Why are you so hung up on this?" Varro asks.

Lucinda makes us both jump backwards as she suddenly swings her knife around, yelling in frustration, "Because I _need_ to know why _we're_ alive and they're not! Why all of this happened!" She breathes in and says quietly, "If I'm supposed to be dead, why am I standing here?"

"I suppose it's just luck," I reply. I've never seen Lucinda this upset and my eyes are still on her knife.

"Luck?"

"Well, think about Drusilla," Varro says. "You can't say that wasn't bad luck."

* * *

><p>Drusilla died on the first day. We hadn't really come up with an idea for how to deal with the bloodbath. I think we'd all assumed no one would <em>really<em> fight. But when we came up in a city square, with the Cornucopia in the middle, and the gong went and people ran forward, it suddenly became real.

I had been between a girl I didn't know and Mila. We all went to grab items. When I looked around, I saw Mila's "district" partner, Quintus brain the youngest tribute in the Games who was trying to grab a pack off him. I didn't know much about Quintus but I hadn't placed him as someone who would kill. I was wrong. Evidently.

The savageness of the move seemed to catch everyone, including Quintus, off guard. And then I saw Drusilla's partner whirl around and stab Quintus who dodged. But Quintus' friend, Galba, beheaded the stabber. And then it was chaos. People turned on each other. All of our rebellion, our plans to show the rebels up in front of their own nation, they turned to dust.

I killed someone in that bloodbath. It was Quintus. I saw him running towards Lucinda and before I knew what I was doing, I threw a knife at him. Like I'd throw stones at kids who annoyed me when I was ten and apologise if I'd really hurt them. It was too late to take it back when it stuck and he fell, bleeding to death.

It had always been a game. It was supposed to be a game. But seeing him there, blood running out of his back with my knife lodged between his shoulder blades, it seemed all too real. I vomited.

Drusilla was killed by Galba. I think it was an accident. She was running towards the middle and he was running away and they collided. She fell with his sword embedded in her stomach, the red not quite matching her hair colour. And he backed away, as though in shock.

Ten people died in that bloodbath overall: Cyrus Boardman, Primus Bray, Quintus Dougan, Rufus Keech, Avita Mothew, Damaris Mouat, Lazarus Protheroe, Theon Umunna, Julia Waddell and, of course, Drusilla Townley.

I made the effort to remember their names when their pictures flashed up later that night. Names have always been important to me. They have a certain power over people and they make you think more about who the person is. In previous years, when I'd watched the Games, I'd always ignored the names of tributes who died straight away or who I didn't like. I didn't want to go through these Games like that. I wanted every death to mean something to me.

* * *

><p>Lucinda shudders. "Don't remind me," she says but then she shakes her head. "No, you're right, she was unlucky. But I still ... there are three of us still here. And after what we just did ... did we cause it all?"<p>

"Those two cousins were killed by Galba the next day," I point out. "That had nothing to do with us."

"And the mutts – they were going to kill _us_, you know that, don't you, Lucinda?" Varro asks. "That was the rebels. Not us."

He's talking about the fourth day. No one had died on the third. The city was disgusting, covered in rubble and rubbish. It stank. And the food tasted awful and there wasn't much between us anyway. We'd never gone hungry before. It was a horrible feeling. When I had hunger pangs, I actually thought I was ill.

If that had happened _before_ the bloodbath, I would have been horrified. But somehow, everything except the hunger seemed somewhat minor compared to the loss of Drusilla. Angelo and Mila were quiet on the first night – Theon Umunna had been Angelo's partner and Mila had spoken to Quintus quite a few times – but had been more vocal since.

We were sat around after a day of aimless wandering, mainly looking for water in one of the buildings, when we heard the sound of feet running. Then we saw them – giant white figures, a gruesome mixture of human and lizard. With a sickly smell of roses. I saw Lucinda turn pale.

"Run!" Mila shouted.

We turned and ran. After a few seconds, they moved to the left – mimicking the moves of the people at the front. Antonius, Lucinda and myself.

One of the lizards leapt on Angelo. We turned to help him but he screamed for us to run. I didn't see him die but I heard it.

We saw a nearby building and charged towards it. Gaius, seeing how close the lizards were, without a word to any of us, turned around and threw himself at them, swinging his weapons around and delaying them for a few seconds. I saw him die as I closed the door to the building.

That left five of us in the group. And ten people overall.

* * *

><p>"I know the rebels sent them," Lucinda agrees. "But..."<p>

"But what?" I ask. "Angelo was unlucky. And Gaius..."

"Saved us," Lucinda says.

There's nothing I can do but agree.

I look over the ruined city. I wonder what my father is thinking. He left us long ago but I know he's still alive, out there. I visited him a few times a year and he always gave me presents. I always looked forward to his visits but it was mainly for the presents.

I don't think I understood anything about other people until Gaius ran into those lizards, knowing he would die. He said I was his kind of person. But until he sacrificed himself for us, I didn't think people actually did that sort of thing for each other. Even watching re-runs of the Games, I would see the occasional tribute do something like that and I would just think, _what an idiot_. But thinking that about Gaius seems like an insult to his memory.

Varro moves one foot forward but hesitates. I keep my hand on my sword. We're still in our stand-off. There's still no way to resolve this.

"We did cause those mutts, you know," Lucinda suddenly says.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you catch the smell?" she asks.

"Sorry, I was running for my life."

"The smell of white roses. My grandfather's smell."

"Um ... Lucinda, I have to tell you. I've never smelt your grandfather."

There's a moment of awkward silence as both Varro and Lucinda turn to look at me. And then, suddenly, we're laughing. As though this was a normal day in the Capitol, as though we were all friends who are sharing a good joke. None of us have laughed like this since we were chosen for the Hunger Games.

She's still smiling, albeit shakily, as she says, "Trust me. It was the smell he always had. So those mutts were designed for _me_."

"Yeah, because the rebels wanted to kill you," Varro points out.

"Then why am I still alive?"

"Because ... because ..."

"Because everyone else died," I say simply.

* * *

><p>There were no more deaths until the sixth day when the daughter of the man in charge of defences in the Capitol died. We don't know how – only that it wasn't Galba who did it. Her name was Carisia Knott and she was the oldest of the tributes.<p>

Mila died on the seventh day, when we ran into two of the three boys who weren't in our group and who were still alive. One of them shot her with an arrow when she saw them and suggested they join us and the other shot me in the leg. Varro managed to hit one of them with a rock but he didn't die. They ran away.

I don't know why Mila did that. I think her mind was still on rebelling against the rebels. But our anti-rebel conversations had long since stopped. She could have survived but none of us had the medicine to save her. I don't know if she had sponsors but chances are, her mentor didn't care enough either way.

I'd never had to go without medicine before. It left a horrible feeling in my mouth. But we didn't mourn for long. It wasn't because she'd been a character in a game. It was because we'd already seen too many deaths.

On the ninth day, we were invited to a feast. We didn't go. As Antonius said, if we were playing on our own terms, we weren't going to go to something which in every previous year had been a bloodbath, even if we were running out of food. No one died. Maybe no one went.

A tornado chased the four of us into the centre and destroyed our packs as well as injuring all of us, especially Lucinda and Varro. The boy who'd killed Mila, Nicandro Bowden, showed up in the sky that night.

We came across the other boy and the last girl from outside our group the next day. We hadn't drunk anything for nearly twenty-fours and we'd eaten the last of our food. They both had packs. I don't know what we would have done. I was tempted to take the food but something stopped me. In all the times we'd been together, our group had discussed how we wouldn't let the Games change us. We'd never intentionally hurt people before. All of us had hurt or killed someone already but never in an outright attack. I didn't want to be the one who crossed that line. Especially as I was the one who first created the idea for the line.

They solved it when the girl pointed at us and shouted that if they killed us, people would love them. We fought. Varro killed the girl. The boy broke Antonius' neck before I slashed him with my sword. That evening, we watched as Isolde Knight, Magnus Lombardi and Antonius Sherborne appeared in the sky.

And when we saw Galba Vakante, on the roof of this building, it was no match. He tried to spear Lucinda but she ducked before flinging a knife towards him. He dodged, lost his balance and fell. Over the edge. The cannon fired.

* * *

><p>Lucinda's eyes flick to the edge.<p>

"And then there were three," Varro mutters, reading our thoughts.

"I didn't mean to kill Galba," Lucinda says softly. "I didn't mean for him to fall. I just ... reacted."

"No one's blaming you," I say.

"I am," she says. "I didn't kill _anyone_ in these Games until him. I thought..."

"What?"

"Why are we here?"

I don't like this. Lucinda is making me feel uneasy. I don't know if the three of us would kill each other or not so I don't know what her angle is.

"Because the rebels wanted to make an example. They took the family of the twenty-four most powerful and notorious Capitol workers and placed us in one final Hunger Games to prove to everyone that they can, I suppose."

"And why do they want a victor?"

"Because it's meant to replicate the Games exactly?" Varro asks. I can see him half-drawing his axe. I glare at him, half-drawing my sword. If he attacks Lucinda, I will attack him.

She nods and to my surprise, moves one step to her left. Towards the edge. "My grandfather once said that the right _person_ has to win the Games."

"Like Katniss and Peeta weren't the right people?" I ask. "Because they were ... well ... people thought they were trying to be martyrs."

"And see how that ended up?"

"Lucinda, what are you saying?" Varro growls.

"Varro, who are you?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

She holds her knife out. "Answer the question or I will throw this. Even if I die."

I trade a worried look with Varro. "I'm Varro Torelli," he says. "You know that."

"And who was your uncle?"

"He was Corin Torelli. The Head Peacekeeper."

"And what happens if you win?"

"I survive."

"And? What do people say?"

"They ... I don't know, they'll be angry. No one in the districts liked the Peacekeepers so they're not going to be happy I'm still around. I've certainly been brutal enough here to confirm suspicions."

"But that goes for any of us," I protest. "No one likes being spied on so..."

"People hated what your mother stood for, not who she was. She had power but I bet most of them didn't even know her name."

I turn in surprise. Varro said that.

"Yes, maybe. But we're _not_ them. It shouldn't matter which one of us wins."

"But it does," Lucinda says. "Do you think I'll live out there if I win? Do they really want my grandfather's family to continue?"

"It was you who said it," Varro adds. "On that first night, when I asked you. You said me and you were going to die."

"I thought we would," I admit. "But we haven't. I'm surprised but I think it proves the point better. None of the others who died cared about it. So it _shouldn't_ matter who wins."

"But it does," Lucinda repeats. "Doesn't it?"

I breathe in. "Yes," I concede. "It does. But we don't have to play their game."

"So you're saying you'll die for Lucinda to win?" Varro asks sceptically.

I hesitate because that is what I was saying but I'm not sure I'm brave enough to follow through.

"Either all of us can throw ourselves off or two of us can die," I say finally. "If we all die, we'll be martyrs."

"We can't all die," Lucinda protests. "That would be giving them what they want!"

"If we go down together, it isn't."

"Lucinda's right," Varro says. "If we all die, the rebels will paint over it. If one of us lives, they can stop everything. We all die, the Capitolians might rebel. One of us lives ... they can speak out. Stop more people dying."

I groan in frustration. "Then how do we resolve this?"

Lucinda smiles. "We give them the victor they want. The one who's the most likely to please people."

"They hate all of us. I've spent the entire time mouthing them off, Varro's done the same _and_ everyone hates his uncle and you ... well."

"It's about symbolism," she says and looks at Varro who grips his axe tightly. "Who's notorious enough to speak out and less likely to inflame people? I'll tell you this. It isn't me. If I don't die here, they'll kill me out there. So, I'll make it easier."

She takes another step. Without thinking, I lunge forward and grab her hand as she jumps over the edge. I feel myself being dragged forwards.

"Let me go!" she shouts.

"No!" I shout back. "We're not having any more deaths."

Varro runs over and grips our enjoined hands, taking some of Lucinda's weight. I smile at him. Then he pushes me. Backwards. Onto the roof. I sit up and stare as he strains with Lucinda.

"I'm sorry," he says, smiling sadly. "But she's right. She can't win this. And I can't either."

He allows himself to fall sideways. I lunge forward again, trying to grab his flailing arm but I'm too late. After two seconds, I hear a cannon fire.

The rebels stun me before I can jump after Varro and Lucinda.

* * *

><p>They fix my injuries but they don't fix my mind. I dream about the arena and in the night, I scream the names of every tribute. They try to make me watch the three-hour cut version but the ceremony doesn't go ahead because I tell them I will close my eyes and refuse to watch, even if they kill me. Peeta Mellark tiredly informs the crew that they've proven their point. If they make us watch it again, they'll be exactly like the Capitol. I don't say anything to him. I don't know which victors voted for these Games and from what I know of him, he probably didn't, but I want nothing to do with the rebels. He just smiles at me and limps away.<p>

They do interview me, however, and I answer their questions as pointedly as I can. To my surprise, the interviewer, after hesitating, tells me that the conversation at the end had been muted and what was going through my head in those long minutes? Why did I jump after Lucinda and why did Varro push me away? I look at him and see his nervousness. Maybe he wasn't supposed to ask me this.

Either way, I tell them the truth: that we were worried about what kind of victor they would want and Lucinda and Varro killed themselves because they believed their being the victor would result in more trouble. And I tried to save them because I didn't think they should die for their grandfather and uncle's crimes.

The interview ends in the silence that follows and I am bundled away.

* * *

><p>They find me standing on the roof of the tallest building I could access, looking over the edge. One year since the Hunger Games were announced.<p>

I don't move as they call my name. But when one of the soldiers sent to find me grabs my arm, I react automatically and swing around, nearly knocking her off the roof. Two of them point a gun at me.

They want me to go to the one year announcement. I'm supposed to be there, as the victor of the final Hunger Games. There was a rumour that there would be more Games but I've been told it isn't true. It can't be true.

I took Lucinda and Varro's final act at its meaning. At the funeral of the twenty-three tributes, I made a simple speech. I condemned the Games and told them they had their "uncontroversial" winner. If they implemented one more Game, I would call on every Capitol citizen to rebel. The Capitol always viewed victors as being the best of the best. They would follow me if I called for a rebellion. If they killed us all, they would have the massive loss of life they were worried about. And we would keep fighting back, until we either won or we died. But if they treated us like normal citizens, we would co-operate with their strict regime and suffocating lifestyle. Even if they cut the TV then, they knew people would talk.

Coin publically agreed to my demands the next day, stating that it had never been her intention to hold another Games. I don't know if that's true or not.

The woman I knocked over smiles at me and that makes me move. I'm in the middle of the group but she walks beside me and, to my surprise, she squeezes my shoulder and apologises for scaring me. I don't say anything to her. I don't make friends anymore.

After the ceremony, they want to interview me. I give answers designed to keep the amount of rebellion as low as possible. But then the interviewer asks me, am I happy with how things have worked out?

It throws me. I start to say yes and then I start to say no.

Finally, I settle for what I'm thinking. That there are so many things I wish could have happened. But that everyone died for this peace and regime and that outweighs their loss of life.

The interviewer nods and ends the interview as my symbol rises up. I turn and look at the picture. Three hands. One from a girl falling off the edge, one pulling her back and one joining the two together.

It makes me smile as I walk away. It always does.

I wonder if the rebels know our hands make the old symbol for peace.

_**Fin**_


End file.
